as to the Gentlemen, they had the Liberty of appearing there mask’d, provided they made themselves known at the Door: All the Rooms were small, and but poorly lighted; there were several Pieces of Dancing to the Music of five or six Violins: The Room design’d for the principal Nobility was encompass’d with Forms, and the Place for the Dancers was an oval Nook rail’d in. A Gentleman of the Company that gave the Ball stood at the Entrance of the Oval; they gave him the Title of Master of the Hall, and ’twas he that call’d out the Dancers. All the Ladies were mask’d at this Ball, which was call’d a Feast, but I know not why; for there were Glasses indeed, but there was nothing to eat or drink. The Ladies were all very gay, and some of them in Court-Dresses. I have been twice at these pretended Entertainments, but was so tir’d, and in such Danger of being press’d to Death, that I don’t care to go again; for which reason the Romans say, I have not an elegant Taste.
Neither am I very well reconcil’d to their Plays, of which indeed here are none all the Year, except during the Carnival; but then we had two Opera-Theatres, and four or five for Comedy. Of all these Theatres there’s but one that’s good for any thing, and that’s the Ladies Theatre, commonly call’d the Theatre of Aliberti because ’twas built by Order of one Count Aliberti. The Room is excessively large, so that the Voices are lost in it; it has seven Rows of Boxes, so low and little, that it makes the Room look like a Henroost; the Pit will hold 900 Persons with Ease: The Stage is spacious, very high, and fitely decorated; but they don’t shift the Scenes with that Dexterity as they do at our Play-houses, yet, when the whole is put together, the Place is not to be despised: The Habits of the three principal Actors are magnificent,
but those of the rest are horrible. Their Voices are good, and so are their Instruments for the most part; but their Dancers are too bad to behold, and you can’t imagine any thing more hideous: The Women are in the Disguise of Men, out of a ridiculous Scruple, if I may venture to call it so, which they have here, that Women should not be seen at the Theatres. This is the Reason, that the Operas of Rome are vastly inferior to the other Operas of Italy. There is not perhaps a more ridiculous Sight, than to see these Creatures, who are but half Men, play the Parts of Women; yet, tho’ they have neither Air nor Gracefulness, they are applauded here as much as the best Actresses are elsewhere. Tho’ I am passionately fond of the Italian Music, yet I own to you, that I am disgusted with their Operas, when I see those Eunuchs play the Part of a Roland, a Hercules, or some such Hero; and I have not Patience to see no more than half a dozen Actors, no Machines, and no Dances, except in the Interludes. In my Opinion, such an Opera rather deserves the Name of a Concert; good Voices here are very scarce, and there are actually but five or six Men, and three Women, that have the Reputation of singing well. The Case is the very same with the Composers; they have just lost one of the ablest Men of that Class; viz. Leonard Vinci, who, they say, was poison’d at Naples; but there are still remaining M. Hass, commonly call’d the Saxon, and Signior Purpora, of whom the former is a German, who married the famous Signiora Faustina.
While I am giving you an Account of the Pleasures of Rome, I ought not to omit the Inundations of the Square Navona, which are perform’d on the four Sundays in the Month of August. Two Thirds of the Square being then laid under Water, it forms a Lake, in which the Coaches make a
Ring. The adjacent Windows are full of Spectators, and the Fronts of the Houses are crowded by the Populace, who make hideous Shouts and Outcries, when a Coach happens to take in a little Water, or when one overturns, which sometimes is the Case. The oddest Thing of all to my Mind is, that while the People were intent upon seeing the Coaches pass, and playing a thousand Pranks, a Jesuit, mounted upon a Rail at the other End of the Square, bawl’d out in vain for an Audience of Penitents; and tho’ very few, if any body, heard him, yet he went on haranguing, and ’twas not his Fault that every body did not forsake all to hear him. About twenty Paces from the Preacher was a Mountebank, who, by the comical Jests and Actions of his Merry-Andrew, drew a much greater Audience to him than the Jesuit had.
Are not these now very inchanting Pleasures? Yet a Roman, who never pass’d the Ponte Mole, as there are a great many who have not, will tell you there are none like those of Rome. But I affirm that the Romans don’t know what Diversion is; for in those Parties of Pleasure where reigns the greatest Freedom, there’s always an Air of Constraint, which one does not see elsewhere: Nor does a free Deportment become them, insomuch that when they assume such a Carriage, they naturally forget Politeness, which besides is not what they are much used to; for they know how to be respectful, much more than to be polite. The Way to be acquainted with them thoroughly, is to visit them at their Country-Seats, where they are more frank, less ceremonious, and more sociable, and where they live much better than they do at Rome, at least they feed better; and I will even venture to say, that they there spend high, but they get not the Credit by such Living which they ought, because they don’t set it off to the best Advantage; and if I am
not too much prejudiced, it seems to me, that they grudge the Expence. The most sumptuous Article of their Repasts is Deserts, and they have excellent Cooks and Butlers; but as for us Ultramontains, we are not quite so well used to their Method of Cookery.
I know not whether ’tis the Depravity of my Taste, or the Want of Discernment; but I cannot conceive what Motives, except Devotion or Curiosity, can bring any Man to Rome, than which there is hardly a more melancholy City in the World: Yet I know some Foreigners, and in particular certain Englishmen, who are fond of Rome to a Degree of Enthusiasm. I strive to think as they do, and would fain persuade myself, that the Life which they lead here is agreeable; but I can’t be of that Opinion, nor can I accustom myself to take up Manners and Customs so contrary to ours. At my Age, ’tis a hard Matter to fall into a new Taste and Fashion of Living: Those of Rome don’t agree with me, and I foresee they never will; yet if by Chance I should meet with any Pastime here, I promise you, I’ll revoke my Complaints, and give you an Account of my Pleasures, as I do of my Chagrin.
The People here rise late, and go to Bed late; the first Thing which they do is to drink Chocolate; then they hear Mass in their domestic Chapel, of which almost every House has one: They afterwards make some Visits, return home at Dinner-time, undress, and dine frugally with their Families. After their Meal they get between the Sheets, and sleep for an Hour or two; and after that, loiter away as much in doing nothing at all; but then they dress, and go the Ring, which is without the Gate del Popoli; from thence to the Ponte Mole there’s a Walk, which is very sorrily pav’d, between two Walls, and some pitiful Houses; and
there’s no Air, but Dust enough to choak one. When the Sun is upon its Decline, the Beau Monde repairs to the Square, or Place d’Espagne, where I think I have already told you how they amuse themselves. From the Square they go and make their Visits of Ceremony: At Two o’Clock at Night, which in the long Days in Summer is about Ten with us, they fall into Assemblies. These may be divided into three Classes, the great Companies for Gaming, the private Companies where they also play, and the Societies in which they only converse. Neither of the three are very numerous, which is owing to the Difference between the Princesses and the Ladies, and to the Fondness of all the Ladies to have Company at their own Houses.